


Haunted

by jenny_of_oldstones



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition, Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types
Genre: Adventure, F/M, Ghost-type Pokemon, Haven (Dragon Age), Pokemon AU, Pokemon Crossover, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-28
Updated: 2019-09-28
Packaged: 2020-10-12 05:29:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20559017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jenny_of_oldstones/pseuds/jenny_of_oldstones
Summary: When paranormal activity starts to plague the people of Haven, all fingers point to Cadash's ghost pokemon, an unnerving Haunter.Cassandra is tasked with confronting him about the ghost, until a greater mystery reveals itself in the mountains outside Haven.





	Haunted

“Excuse me, Seeker Pentaghast?”

Cassandra brought her sword down on the training dummy. Its straw head rolled around its shoulders and dangled by a thread. She turned to the speaker—then schooled her features when she saw who it was.

Mother Giselle stood in the mud and muck of the training yard, unbothered by the filth that stained the bottom of her Chantry frock. “I apologize for disrupting you, but there is a matter I believe you and the Commander should see.”

Cassandra rolled her shoulders. “Could you be more specific?”

“I could,” said Mother Giselle. “But given the number of ears currently listening to us, I would prefer not to.”

Cassandra sighed. Her muscles would complain from cutting her exercises short, but if she was needed there was nothing to be done. All problems in Haven inevitably found their way to her whether she was the person to solve them or not. 

“Of course.” She tossed her training sword into a nearby pile. “Please, lead the way”

Mother Giselle bowed. Folding her hands, she turned and started up the path to the gates of Haven, Cassandra following her.

“You are aware, perhaps, that the Herald is in possession of an illegal pokemon?” asked Mother Giselle. 

“I am.” The gravel crunched under their boots as they passed through the gate. Sigrid and his Machop stood beside their meagre shop of used wares, both of them scowling with their arms folded. “Though I am curious how it is _you_ heard of it.”

“I listen. A ghost pokemon is a cause for concern on the best of days. The people hear rumor that their Herald wields a creature from beyond the Veil, and it troubles them.”

“Yourself included?”

“Yes. Are you not troubled?”

Cassandra sighed. “Cadash agreed to help us seal the rifts under certain conditions, including the condition that we allow him to keep his pokemon. Even so, our Templars have been keeping an eye on him, just in case his Haunter causes trouble.“

“I see,” said Mother Giselle. “You are aware then that people are whispering that this ghost pokemon has been causing mischief around Haven?”

“Oh? What sort of mischief would that be?”

“Nightmares, strange scratches on bodies, chickens dying without cause…I imagine such matters seem trivial to you, but to the average man and woman, these are frightening events.”

An elven servant carrying an iron pot hurried by, her Cleffa struggling to help her. “People often see and hear things that cannot be explained and assume the worst. It is more likely that these events you describe are a product of the Breach or….” Cassandra sighed. “Mass hallucination.”

“That is what you believe?” asked Mother Giselle.

“I believe that people are frightened, and when people are frightened they see and experience things that are not truly there.”

“You believe that even though dozens of people have experienced these incidents?” asked Mother Giselle.

“I believe it _because_ dozens have experienced them,” said Cassandra. “With all due respect, Mother Giselle, most people do not understand magic, yourself included. Missing spoons and barking dogs are not the work of demons, or of ghost pokemon.”

“I see.” They were walking past Leliana’s tent now, where the stench of dozens of Murkrows roiled over them. “I will be curious of your opinion on the current matter, then.”

As they neared the Chantry, it became apparent that others were moving with them. Men and women whispered to each other, and their nervousness carried them up to the Chantry. Cassandra was alert now. By the time she and Mother Giselle arrived, a small crowd had gathered. The doors to the Chantry were closed, and a handful of Templars had created a human barrier around the entrance, holding their arms out to keep onlookers from getting too close.

Cassandra scanned the crowd and found Josephine standing to the side with two of her aides.

The ambassador’s dress was soaked in blood.

Cassandra pushed through the crowd. “What happened?”

It came out as a snap, and Josephine startled. “I’m fine. We’re not hurt.”

Blood dripped from her hair and skirts, staining the snow beneath her feet. Her aides were wide-eyed, clutching crimson-soaked sheaves of parchment to themselves as if they had run out of her office in a hurry. One woman's Eevee lay on the ground licking the blood out of its fur. 

“I hope you do not think it presumptuous of me,” said Mother Giselle, “but I had the Chantry secured, at least until you and the Commander could assess the situation.”

“What situation?” said Cassandra.

Unlike Josephine, Mother Giselle did not jump so easily. “That is for you to decide. It is also your decision, at this moment, whether or not to start a panic.”

Cassandra glanced around. People were watching her. It had been this way since the Breach had opened—lost souls seeking her out for leadership and protection. She forced herself to relax. There were Chantry brothers and sisters soaked in blood all around, but none of them were hurt.

“Let us wait for the Commander," said Mother Giselle.

It did not take long for Cullen to arrive. His Growlithe trotted beside him, its hot striped body melting the snow around it. It barked when it saw Cassandra, and Cullen ruffled its ears.

"Maker, what now?" he said.

Giselle motioned the two of them to follow her. She led them to a door in the side of the Chantry and unlocked it.

“You might want to cover your head,” said Mother Giselle.

She swung the door open. Inside, the Chantry was pitch black. 

“There will be no need to unsheathe your swords, I think,” said Mother Giselle.

Cassandra felt a prickle of unease. A rusty smell assailed her nose. Mother Giselle inclined her head, and Cassandra and Cullen stepped inside.

Cassandra's foot came down in a sticky puddle. Warm wetness piddled into her hair, down the back of her neck, ran salty over her lips. The dripping grew heavier and became a pattering like rain.

Growlith let out a growl. A stench like an open wound rolled over them. 

Brown light from the stained glass windows was all they had to see by. Cassandra turned her head, seeking out the source of the dripping. They stepped out from under the eaves of the gallery into the chapel proper, and wetness rained down on them.

“Sweet Maker,” breathed Cullen.

The walls of the Chantry glistened. It was as if they were covered in molasses, waves and waves of it puddling on the floor. Black liquid dripped down the pews of the Chantry, pattering, pooling, covering lecterns and filling the grout between flagstones. The ceiling dribbled on them in thick, clotted strings. 

Cassandra took a step toward a marble statue of Andraste. Red ran from under the statue’s closed eyelids down her face. Beneath her, the stones sweated crimson as if from a thousand wounds.

The Chantry was bleeding. 

“Admittedly, I know little of magic, but perhaps this might be a cause for concern?” asked Mother Giselle. 

* * *

If not for the glowing green hole in the sky, news of the Chantry's affliction might have been received with far more hysteria. As such, the faithful merely spat, set their shoulders, and continued about their freezing, demeaning work. Of course Haven was haunted. Why wouldn’t it be? What else could possibly go wrong?

One thing was for certain, however: someone was responsible. The frightened refugees never spoke the name aloud, but it was clear who they suspected. 

"Let's not jump to conclusions," said Josephine. She had washed and changed into a fresh dress. The war council had relocated to Leliana's freezing tent outside the Chantry with its stacked cages of sullen Murkrows. The sound of shovels sprinkling gravel on the blood that had seeped out from under the Chantry's doors crept in through the flaps. "It might simply be a demon."

"My Templars have patrolled Haven inside out and found no sign of demonic activity," said Cullen. "No, someone is toying with us, pulling these...pranks. Ghost pokemon are known to be mischievious." 

"That is a serious accusation, Commander," said Leliana, "given that there is only one ghost pokemon in Haven."

"Yes, and it should have been confiscated from day one." Cullen's expression was stormy. "Do you really want to have this argument again?" 

"Not particularly," said Leliana. "Though perhaps it bears reminding that we swore Cadash would be allowed to keep his pokemon in exchange for him helping us to seal the Breach."

"We said he would be allowed to keep it so long as he kept it under control. Clearly, that is not the case." 

"People are starting to talk," conceded Josephine. "They know the Herald has a Haunter. It does not reflect well on the Inquisition if their savior is also in possession of the pokemon who may be tormenting them. They anointed him as Herald of Andraste mere months ago. It would be entirely too easy for them to reverse their opinion in light of this development."

It was true. As word of the bleeding Chantry spread, more and more refugees had come forth with stories of disturbing paranormal activity. Shrieks of laughter in the night, a candle seen floating down a hallway, doors slamming shut all on their own...the nerves of the refugees were already on edge, and these manifestations were hardly helping. 

"Exactly," said Cullen. "We should take a few Templars out to his cabin and demand he hand it over." 

"And give him even more reason to leave?" said Leliana. "He barely has faith in us as it is. Do you want to lose the Anchor?" 

"I want the Chantry to stop bleeding!" said Cullen. "I've been trained all my life to fight psychic and ghost pokemon. You can't expect me to stand aside and let one get away with this madness now." 

"I simply think," said Leliana, putting emphasis on the last word, "that we should question him first before sending a band of armed knights to his door." 

"Perhaps it would be best if we first speak to him about the issue," said Cassandra. 

"Precisely. You can go talk to him," said Leliana.

"Me?" Cassandra was taken aback. "Why should I be the one to do it?" 

"You and Cadash have worked in the field together. You know him better than any of us," said Leliana. "It only makes sense that he would trust you."

Trust was not something Marlowe Cadash did. "I know him well enough to know that he will not be happy to see my face." 

"No one cares if he's happy," said Cullen. "Find out if his Haunter is responsible, and if it is, tell him he has to forfeit it to us."

"And if he refuses?" asked Cassandra. 

"Then make him see reason," said Cullen. "Otherwise-" 

There was a low groan as of wood straining. Cullen pulled back the tent flap, in time for them to see the Chantry doors spring open and a river of blood come gushing out into the camp. Servants screamed and ran. Josephine yelped as the blood came rushing into the tent around her skirts. Leliana merely stood there, letting the blood splash around her legs while her Murkrows cawed.

"Otherwise,” said Cullen, gritting his teeth. “We won’t be responsible for what happens to it.”

* * *

Cassandra walked past the training yard and into the forest. Cadash did not sleep inside Haven’s walls. Instead, he had made his home in Adan’s cabin not far from Haven, where his person was protected at all hours by a legion of scouts who remained invisible while Cassandra strode down the forest path. Early on, the war council had tried to cajole Cadash into sleeping inside the town walls, but the dwarf would not be swayed. He had simply stared at them with that dull, dogged look on his face, as if they were suggesting he sleep inside a trunk full of stinging scorpions.

Cadash was chopping wood outside his cabin when Cassandra stepped from the trees. He set a log on a stump, glanced at her, then hefted his axe above his head.

“Seeker,” he said.

“Herald.” She folded her arms.

His axe whistled down and split the log in half. 

Marlowe Cadash was a breathtakingly ugly man. His body was covered in dark, hairy birthmarks, to the point that he looked less like a dwarf and more like a spotted mongrel. He had a face like a butcher's block and a stripe of greasy black hair pulled back in a wolf’s tail. He was surly, dressed in stained furs, and hacked bandits apart with the same put-upon boredom as he did the logs he was chopping now.

His eyes were also the same height as Cassandra’s breasts. That was irritating.

“The walls of the Chantry were bleeding this morning,” said Cassandra.

“Serving girl told me,” he said. “Came out to bring a tin of milk for the cats. Nice of her.” He set another log on the stump.

“It is not the only disturbance that has happened recently,” said Cassandra.

Cadash said nothing. The birthmarks that covered him gave off a musty smell like a dog’s pelt. There was one huge one that covered his left eye, its stiff black hairs reaching out like feelers. Cassandra found it hard not to stare at it.

“There are rumors that the culprit is your Haunter,” said Cassandra.

Cadash split the log.

“When you first came to Haven, we did not confiscate your pokemon, under the assumption that it was safe and well-trained. If you have been allowing your Haunter to roam unchecked through Haven, then it must end now.”

“It isn't him,” said Cadash.

“The Templars have already checked the village for demons. The nature of these incidents forces us to conclude that it is a ghost pokemon."

“Then it’s some other ghost.”

“Such creatures are exceedingly rare—”

“As rare as a hole in the sky?” Cadash drew himself up and rolled his shoulders. The glare of the Breach tinted the snow around them a bottle green color.

“Let me put it bluntly. If you cannot confine your Haunter to its pokeball to prove its innocence, then it will be taken from you.”

Cadash selected another log in his big, square palm and balanced it upright on the stump.

“I realize that you are not Andrastian, and that the Inquisition is not part of the Chantry, but even you must realize the threat such a pokemon poses to us all. A ghost pokemon is as dangerous as any demon or maleficar. They can possess minds, walk through walls, even command demons to do their bidding.” Nothing. She tried a different angle. “Think what people will do if they find out the Herald allows such a creature to cause mayhem.”

“I imagine they’ll follow your lead.”

“I can’t be held responsible for the mob.”

“You mean the mob you threatened to feed me to when I woke up in your dungeon?”

Cassandra bit the inside of her cheek. Between Varric and Cadash, Cassandra wondered if there wasn’t something about dwarven men that prevented them from letting bygones be bygones.

"I'm not asking," said Cassandra. 

Cadash let the head of the axe fall to the earth. “You really want to decide guilt without evidence?”

“If you cannot provide proof of innocence, yes.”

“What a surprise." Cadash considered the size of the stack of wood beside him. "And if it doesn’t have a pokeball?”

Cassandra blinked. “You mean it’s-”

“Wild? More like a stray cat. Damned thing has been following me around for years. Can’t imagine it’s going to stop now.”

The ground seemed to tilt under her feet. Cassandra had assumed that the Haunter was an ill-advised companion. If it was not leashed to a pokeball, then the danger was exponentially greater than she had feared. A wild ghost pokemon was a disaster. If it had haunted the Herald for years, then he was likely cursed, if not possessed. There was no telling how deeply Cadash was under its influence. Suddenly, his desire for solitude seemed much more suspect.

“Then there are measures we must take," she said. “The Seekers have methods for driving ghost pokemon back to the Fade.”

“No,” said Cadash.

“No?”

Cadash arranged his man parts and sniffed. “Me and this ghost? We got a good operation going. Have for a long time. You want me to stick around, then me and mine get to stick around, too.”

“I don't think—”

“I said it wasn’t my pokemon. That doesn’t mean you can do whatever you want to it, Seeker. You made that mistake once with me, and I'm not going to let you do it again to my friend.”

His mismatched eyes bored into hers. They reminded her of a dog's eyes: one brown, one blue. He was a strange man, quiet, brooding, and had to be pushed and prodded to complete even the simplest task. She could not remember him ever being so resolute about anything.

And, annoyingly, he was right. She had decided his guilt once based on circumstance. It would be unwise to make Cadash even more of an enemy at a time when they needed his cooperation most. 

“Perhaps if you have some other suggestion, we might make a concession,” she said.

He raised a thick eyebrow.

“I am capable of making them, you know,” she said.

"Fine. Agreed."

"Did you have something in mind?"

He looked into the distance at the mountains. “Something rotten is afoot here. Even I can tell that. Whatever's playing tricks on the townsfolk is getting bold. I say we take a walk, get the lay of the land, and find the ghost that's the real culprit.”

Cassandra considered it. It _was_ possible that some other ghost pokemon was responsible, and if not, she would have indulged Cadash and proven him wrong. She could find no fault in the plan.

“Very well,” she said. “How exactly do you plan to find this ghost?”

“With another ghost. Takes a jerk to find a jerk.”

Cadash put two fingers to his mouth and whistled.

The shadows under the trees darkened. Cassandra gasped and stumbled back as a grinning mouth of sharp teeth materialized in front of her. The teeth opened and closed over and over in horrible, silent laughter. 

“His name is Smiler,” said Cadash. “Get it?”

* * *

The game trails around Haven made for easy progress as they hiked into the woods. Under the glare of the mid-morning sun, streams of water ran down the trunks of pine trees and conifers, the air sweet with witch hazel and moss.

It would have been pleasant, in better company.

The Haunter drifted like a shark beside them. It was huge, wore a permanently frozen smile on its face, and radiated a terrible feeling like dark water and drowning. Its severed hands hung limply in front of it, and all around it was the scent of old blood. 

Wherever it floated, the birds fell silent.

Cadash did not seem disturbed. He walked with his great-axe on his shoulder, oblivious to the nightmare in their company. Every so often he would stop, check the map Charter had lent them, and carry on in silence.

“I must admit, you surprised me,” said Cassandra. “I expected less from you.”

“Oh?”

“I thought you would say ‘get lost’ and crawl back into bed. The fact that you are willing to comply with this investigation speaks well of you.”

“You didn’t leave me much choice.”

There was an accusation there she didn't miss. Cadash never complained about the Mark that has chosen him, or the life he had left behind, but he rarely failed to remind his comrades of their every mistake and flaw. She could almost describe it as sullen.

“You said before that you knew this pokemon for some time,” she said. “Where did you first meet it?”

“Does it matter?” Cadash brushed a tree branch aside.

Cassandra caught it before it could slap her in the face. “Most ghost pokemon are the servants of maleficars. They sometimes haunt old battlefields and places of death alongside demons, true, but I have never heard of one haunting a person before, let alone a dwarf.”

“And how many dwarves have you known?” said Cadash. “Aside from Tethras?”

“Not many, I suppose.”

The Haunter laughed a slow, dark laugh. Its face did not move as it did so, but Cassandra felt its gaze slide to her. She shivered.

“You said before that it has been following you for many years. Are there other ghost pokemon among the Carta?”

Cadash snorted. “You really don’t know anything about smugglers, do you?”

“How could I? You never share anything about yourself.” Cassandra stepped carefully over a root. “We have been traveling and fighting alongside each other for over a month, and I doubt I know more about you now than I did the first day we met.”

Cadash turned his head slightly. She thought for a moment he might say something, but he continued onward wordlessly. 

The woods around Haven were tranquil and depopulated. Most of the larger game had been picked off by the Inquisition’s foragers, and the trail was lined with the stumps of trees that had been claimed for the camp’s defenses. After half an hour, the stumps thinned out, and the trees grew closer together. Rabbit and weasel tracks crisscrossed across the snow, and Cassandra smelled bear signs.

The game trail became more difficult to follow. It took them down steep hills and frozen riverbeds, to places where the snow grew waist high. Cassandra offered to go first in such areas, but Cadash set his brow and waded through it, taking his axe off his shoulder and gripping it in both hands like an oar as he forged a path forward through the drifts.

The Haunter had no such trouble navigating. It floated through snow and trees alike as if they were not there, a dry, purple tongue lined with sores protruded slightly between its sharp teeth.

“How can you tell this creature knows where it is going?” she asked. 

“No idea,” said Cadash. “But he’s got that look in his eye. Something's left a scent in the air. Something nasty.”

“And that means he’s hunting it?”

“Maybe.” 

“_Maybe_?”

“Might be he's following a rabbit. Might be he’s just fooling us. Can't always tell with him.”

"How reassuring." 

Gradually, the trail began to steepen. Ancient Tevinter totems glowered under the trees, their faces covered in icicles and made anonymous by time. They eventually came to a sheer cliff, and its face was carved with dozens of pictograms. The freshest ones depicted a dragon flying above the mountains, while below tiny figures raised their arms around a human sacrifice tied to a stake. 

"That's not dwarven," said Cadash.

"There were dragon cultists in these mountains before the Chantry reclaimed the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Reports of their rituals were....disturbing." 

Cadash set his axe head-down in the snow. “Think we can climb up there?” 

Cassandra eyed the sheer face. “You first.”

Cadash snorted and swung the axe onto his back. Grabbing a rock, he hauled himself onto the first ledge. His arms were surprisingly powerful, and Cassandra admired the way his short body moved nimbly up the rockface. He at last pulled himself over the final ledge some thirty feet above and waved down at her.

It was not hard to see how Cadash had done it. Cassandra dug her toe into a cleft, gripped a jutting rock, and started to climb. She was almost six feet up when she reached—

Only for the rock under her hand to crumble. She fell and hit the ground with an _oof_ .

“Graceful," Cadash called down. 

Cassandra got to her feet with a wince. "Perhaps I'll find another way around." 

“Nah, we’re wasting daylight. Let Smiler help.”

"What-?”

The Haunter was suddenly beside her. Before she could react, it placed a hand on her head.

Cassandra gasped—the hand was wrong, _freezing_—but she could not move. Her body rose as if it was a bubble, up and up, her stomach rising inside her—and then the hand pushed down, and she was falling slowly. Her feet touched down on the top of the cliff, and all at once she became real again.

Cassandra fell to her hands and knees. It was as if all her weight had been removed and then suddenly slammed back into her. Icy sweat poured down her face. She panted, swallowing the scream of horror that was crawling up her throat.

“Hey.” Cadash put a hand on her back. “You all right?”

“What was…..” Vomit filled her mouth and dribbled down her chin. A second later she was coughing up the rest of it in the snow.

“Maybe it’s rougher on some people?” said Cadash.

Cassandra simply crouched there, sweating and shivering. He rubbed her back in slow circles.

The Haunter had turned upside down, watching them with its terrible smile. Then it popped out of existence like a soap bubble, its laughing mouth disappearing last of all. 

* * *

After Cassandra had drunk some water and gotten her legs to stop shaking, she and Cadash carried on. They followed the rocky trail deeper into the mountains, following the slope ever upward.

Even though the Haunter was not visible, there was a dark smudge in the air that cast no shadow on the snow. It smelled of old blood and kept pace beside behind them.

“I think he’s ashamed of himself,” murmured Cadash. After a minute, he added, “I’m sorry.”

“About _what?_” said Cassandra.

Cadash grimaced. “I should have told you what he was going to do. Or warned you, so….Sorry.”

Cadash didn’t look at her when he said it. It was almost gratifying to see him so abashed.

“There is no harm done,” she said. Maker, she hoped not. “What was that? Some kind of special ability?”

“Beats me. Half the stuff he does, I don’t understand. I just know it works.”

“That sounds incredibly dangerous.”

Cadash shrugged. “Hasn’t bitten me yet.”

“I simply don’t understand how you can be so trusting of such a creature.”

Cadash turned his blue eye on her.

“It saved my life, a long time ago,” he said.

They walked in silence for so long that Cassandra thought he was going to leave it at that. A pinecone splintered with a crack under Cadash’s boot, and he seemed to rouse himself.

“About ten years ago, I was part of a lyrium smuggling ring. We hid the vials in bags of grain and ran them between the Tevinter border and Kirkwall, selling them to apostates and the Mage Collective along the way. One day, the Templars got wind of what we were doing and started patrolling our usual route. We were right outside Tantervale when they caught us. The trial was quick. All three of my business partners got hanged the next morning. Since I was in charge of the operation, the judge sentenced me to be drawn and quartered in the public square.” Cadash snorted. “Tantervale.”

Cassandra could imagine. Tantervale was notorious for the harshness of its judges and the eagerness of its executioners.

“So I spent the night in prison. Tried to figure out a way to hang myself with my belt from the window bars. Made myself sick thinking about all the things I’d never get to do and all the choices I could have made to not end up there. I was about to put my head in the noose, when this asshole floated through the wall.”

Cadash thumbed at the empty air. The smudge darkened slightly to the color of a bruise.

“Scared the shit out me. Thought it was a demon. I waited for it to kill me, but it just floated there, watching. Maybe it had been haunting the prison for a long time, or maybe it had just gotten there that night. Who can say. It was tumbling in the air like it was bored and waiting for me to do something. It took me awhile to figure out that it was waiting to see if I was going to kill myself. Well, that pissed me off. I got my head out of the noose and told it to fuck off back to the Fade, and it just laughed at me. I called it every curse I knew, and it just kept laughing. Laughing at my bad luck, at my bad decisions, at my wasted life. So I started laughing back. I don’t think it expected that.

"Maybe it liked that about me. Maybe it just thought I was funny. Either way, it put its hand on my head and lifted me right out of that prison. We’ve been together ever since.”

Snow melt dripped on them from the trees. The midday shadows stretched green and orange—one from the sun, one from the Breach—across the snow.

"You never tried to capture it?" asked Cassandra. 

"Why should I?" said Cadash. "Not everything needs to be put on a leash." 

"It would be safer." 

"You know, for a woman who talks a lot about faith, you don't put much faith in others do you?" 

"Says the man who refuses to sleep inside Haven's walls." 

"Hey, you want me to trust a bunch of assholes who tried to lynch me, you're gonna be holding your breath a long time. I put stock in friends, not fanatics." 

The bruise in the air darkened to a small cloud. The Haunter's eyes and mouth spiraled out from its nebulous core, sloshing disturbingly around its face before settling into a grin. Cassandra shivered again. She would never get used to it. Still, he was right-the creature had saved Cadash from a terrible fate. It was more than could be said about most of the people in Haven. 

"I...suppose that makes sense," said Cassandra. "You have not been treated kindly since you woke up, and some of the fault lies with me."

"Some of it?"

"_Some_ of it," said Cassandra. "I may not approve of the Haunter, but he brought you to us. If you had died in that cell, who knows where we would be now. I understand why you would prefer his company to our own."

"That almost sounds like an apology." 

"I am trying to be civil. We are, after all, comrades." 

"Careful, Seeker, or you might end up liking me."

"Don't make me change my-"

The Haunter pointed.

Cassandra grabbed her sword. She followed the pokemon's line of sight, and saw a cave in the side of the mountain. 

* * *

As they approached the mouth of the cave, the air grew warmer. The air also grew fouler, and soon they were wrinkling their noses. 

“It smells like a dragon nest,” said Cadash. “Don’t you think?”

“I wouldn’t know,” said Cassandra.

“Really? No secret Pentaghast powers?”

Cassandra did not dignify that with a response. The stench leaking out of the cave was thick and sweltering. It curdled the air like rotten eggs and fetid meat, with a dry scent like old scales and musty burrows.

“Maybe it’s a possessed dragon,” said Cadash. “That a thing?”

“Animals can become possessed, from time to time,” said Cassandra. “Though dragons are said to be too physically big for demons to harness as a host.”

“So…it's a possibility?”

“A very, very small one.”

Cassandra reached for her pokeball-sash. She found the third ball on the belt and tapped its rune with a fingertip. It swelled to full size in her hand and she tossed it to the ground.

The flash of light blinded them momentarily. The pokeball popped back into her palm, drawn to her glove by matching enchantments, before she tapped it again and secured it to her belt.

The light in front of them took shape. Cadash craned his neck up, and up, and up.

Cassandra had had many pokemon over the years. Some of them had been personal pets, some of them family heirlooms, some of them assigned to her by the Seekers.

Blaziken was the one Antony had given her.

It had been a Torchic back then- one they had found abandoned in the highlands of the Nevarran countryside. It had been a runt, scared, blind, shivering in its nest, all its family dead and gone. Antony had shown her how to clean its feathers and warm it in her hands until it could finally open its eyes.

And then Antony died, and she was left alone. 

Torchic had grown, as had she. They had both suffered an awkward phase- her as a fledgling Seeker, Blaze as a walking chicken- until at last they had both evolved into their true and final form.

Seven feet tall, sweltering with heat, Blaziken towered over them. Her feathers gleaned golden-red like a Fereldan rug, and her intelligent face twitched back and forth like a bird's.

Cassandra had not even considered how the Haunter would react to her. The ghost raced forward. Cassandra started to cry out, when Cadash grabbed her wrist and said, "wait."

Blaziken startled back at the sight of the ghost. The snow hissed and steamed around her feathered feet. She raised her foreclaws defensively and glanced to Cassandra for a sign.

The Haunter turned over its left hand in a limp gesture and opened up its fingers, revealing a silver coin with a scarred face on its palm. It did not offer it to Blaziken, but neither did it retract it.

“I….wouldn’t recommend taking that,” said Cadash. "But I think he's good with her." 

“If you say so," said Cassandra. "Blaze, step back." 

Blaziken obeyed. Like all her pokemon, Blaziken was assiduously trained. She retreated out of the range of the Haunter’s claws, and set her arms at ready. The coin faded from the Haunter's hand, to its apparent deep amusement. 

“So, think we've got enough artillery for whatever's in there?” asked Cadash.

"If it is a dragon, no, but anything else, yes, I believe so. Blaze is more than a match for any ghost we might encounter.” Cassandra hesitated. “Unless you have other illegal pokemon you’d like to show me?”

Cadash turned an invisible key over his lips and tossed it over his shoulder. Then he hefted his axe and led them into the cave.

* * *

Blaziken lit two torches for them. They carried them in their free hands, their weapons in the other. The cave was pitch black and grew hotter the farther they walked inside. 

“There are pictograms on the wall," said Cadash. “Old and new ones. They look like the ones we found on the cliff.”

Cassandra raised her torch. The engravings depicted mostly dragon shapes.

“The dragon cultists I mentioned earlier- they apparently believed their dragon was Andraste reborn.”

The pictograms climbed higher up the wall in more disturbing shapes. Cloaked figures. Creatures without eyes and mouths.

“The Hero of Fereldan struck a deal with them. What manner of deal is unclear," said Cassandra.

"Didn't Leliana travel with her?"

"Yes, but Leliana does not like to speak about Mahariel. They....parted on bad terms." What kind of bad terms, the bard refused to say. "It is said that the Hero explored the tunnels in these mountains extensively, and that after allying herself with the dragon cult, she encountered a knight who guarded the ashes of Andraste, hard to believe as that may be.”

“Maybe the Hero was full of it,” said Cadash.

“She used the ashes to bring Arl Eamon back from death’s door. How do you explain that?”

“People get better sometimes.”

"In any case, the dragon cult was driven out by the Chantry when we reclaimed the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Most Holy's agents explored the tunnels in search of the knight and the urn, but found nothing."

She was starting to sweat under her armor. Between the strange, foul heat of the cave and Blaziken walking next to her, it was almost dizzying. 

The path turned around the corner. They were suddenly faced with three tunnels.

"Uh-oh," said Cadash.

"There's no telling how deep this cave system goes," said Cassandra. "We might have to come back with more-"

Blaziken hissed. Cassandra raised her sword. The four of them waited, listening. 

In the darkness of the left tunnel, dozens of tiny pink and blue lights came alive.

"On your guard," said Cassandra. 

Cadash raised his axe, then slouched when he saw what was coming. 

The little lights wiggled nearer. Morelulls, dozens of them, were squirming coming closer to blink at them curiously. They stopped at the edge of the torchlight in a bunch, the mushrooms atop their pale white bodies glowing pale blue and pink.

"Be cautious," said Cassandra. "They can release dangerous spores." 

"How about we ask the little guys if there's anyone else down here instead of hacking them to pieces?" He pointed at the nearest one. "Hey, you." 

The Morelull jumped back in surprise. Its tiny black eyes watered with fear. 

"Relax, we're not going to hurt you. Do you know if there's any other spooky shit down here? We've had trouble in town and figured it might be coming from this cave. Do you know anyone who would want to make it rain blood inside a Chantry?"

The Morelulls conferred. Then, like a glowing blue and pink arrow, they formed a column and marched down the center tunnel.

"Would you look at that," said Cadash. "Right again."

Cassandra huffed. They followed the glowing mushroom pokemon further into darkness. 

After many long minutes, the cave began to grow lighter. They could see a glow at the end of the tunnel, and the closer they got, the more Morelulls skittered away, until one by one they were gone. By the time Cassandra and Cadash got to the end of the tunnel, they no longer needed their torches. They walked into a wide, well-lit chamber with hundreds of massive candles around a stone altar. 

The altar that protruded from the back wall held a statue of Andraste with a bowl of fire in her hands. As they approached the altar, the rotten egg odor grew stronger.

In front of the statue of Andraste was a smashed urn. 

"I....I think that might be..." Cassandra could not finish. It was impossible. Justinia's agents had searched these caves for months. If it was true, if she was truly looking at what she thought she was-

"Someone must have moved it here," said Cadash. "But why break it?" 

"I don't know." Cassandra struggled to form words. "The urn of Andraste's ashes. What this will mean to people..."

Cadash kicked the loose shards. "Not worth much now."

"Don't do that!" screamed Cassandra.

But it was too late. The air changed. The rotten egg smell grew rancid.

Blaziken’s feathers puffed up. The Haunter’s eyes swung silently over Cassandra’s shoulder, and she spun around.

A knight stood in the center of the cavern.

A burnished sun was enameled on his cuirass. His blade, as tall as a man, was held in one hand, and a helm of red steel hid his face from sight.

“That’s our guy.” Cadash swung his axe off his shoulder into both hands. “You ready?”

“We do not even know who he is,” said Cassandra. The air reeked of grave soil, and a stronger, more wretched scent that reminded her of the sticks of insence her uncle used to burn in the embalming chambers of the Necropolis- a smoke that enhanced rather than diminished the smell of dead flesh. A chill crawled up her spine, and yet she sensed no creeping horror as she might from a demon or a spirit. This creature, whatever it was, seemed to belong to this world.

“Are you the guardian of this altar?” she asked.

The knight did not respond. Cadash widened his stance.

“We mean no trespass,” said Cassandra. “We seek to end the unrest that plagues this valley. Do you know of it?”

“You always this open-handed with weird knights? Or just ones that wear a Chantry sun on their chests?” said Cadash.

“You fear so much,” said the knight. “Did you come here to confess your fears to me? Antony, Antony. No one will make me helpless again, no one will ever see me powerless again. Why then did you not protect the powerless under your care? You persecuted the mages in fear of a memory, not a reality.”

Cassandra’s blood ran cold.

“And you, Spotted Dog. You bare you fangs at any hand that might comfort you, because you were taught only to bite and kill. You pretend to despise all, when the one you despise most is yourself.”

“Thanks for that,” murmured Cadash.

“The ashes,” the knight tilted his head back. “The ashes were despoiled. The sanctuary despoiled. The dragon and her worshippers came, and then the elf. The elf walked the gauntlet, the elf walked through fire, the elf proved herself worthy, and instead of accepting Andraste's blessing she poured foul blood onto the ashes. Profane elf, wicked woman. She struck down her companion and then me. Her final act was to smash the urn, as if it was responsible for her sin.”

The word scraped out of the knight’s mouth like twisted steel. The air around him whooshed and blazed like a furnace.

“The Bride of the Maker's ashes, and the heathen defiled them. Defiled, defiled, defiled. For centuries I protected the sanctum, and now....I must protect my Lady. I must protect her, still.”

“Your Lady is dead,” said Cadash. “They roasted her high holy buttcheeks on a stick in Tevinter a thousand years ago. “

“Marl!”

“What?” he said.

The knight roared in anguish. He raised his sword and charged.

Cassandra and Cadash leaped at the same time. She left, him right. The knight went for Cadash. His sword whistled down. Cadash rolled out of the way. Cassandra swung at the exposed back of the knight’s leg, where the armor was thin on the tendon. The steel bit into the knight's calf. Stench poured out from the scar in the armor. The knight swung his sword around, and Cassandra yanked her sword free and sprang back.

“Blaze, Quick Attack!” she cried.

A red and gold blur darted across the cavern. Blaziken seized the knight and pinned him on his back.

“Flamethrower!”

Fire sprayed from Blaziken’s mouth and washed over the knight’s face. Cadash moved in and swung his axe down with a cry into the knight’s chest.

The knight’s limbs jumped like a puppet whose strings had been cut, dropping his sword. Cadash pulled out his axe and set its head on the floor. Blaziken stepped back as well.

“Not bad,” said Cadash. “I was expecting something—”

The knight sat up, his helmet glowing red and brown blood pouring from his visor. He grabbed Cadash by the throat.

Cassandra ran. Cadash’s legs were kicking, his eyes bulging.

"Blaze, Hyper Beam!" she cried.

Blaziken opened her beak, and a ball of white light with a purple core gathered at its center. The knight turned its attention to Blaziken, and then, standing up, grabbed Blaze's beak in his free hand and clamped it shut. The Hyper Beam's energy shot out in whining threads around the hand, cutting through the air, scarring the ceiling and walls and floor of the cavern in zigzagging grooves. The knight's fist clamped harder, until Blaziken began to kick and claw at him. Then, the knight simply lifted Blaziken off the ground and hurled her like she was a ragdoll against the wall.

"Blaze!" Cassandra buried her sword in the red metal of the knight’s helm.

The knight dropped Cadash and gripped the sword that was lodged in his skull. Yanking it out, almost with boredom, he shoved Cassandra away. Then he pulled off the crushed helm. 

The face underneath was like a rotted pumpkin. Strips of flesh peeled away with the helmet. The stench of gravesoil roiled out and burned the inside of her noise.

“Maker," gasped Cassandra.

The knight stooped and picked up his sword. His strike was fast. Cassandra caught it low on her sword, too low, and felt her arm tremble. The knight backhanded her, hard, and she stumbled, her head cracking against the floor.

"Cass....” Cadash was on the ground clutching his throat. He was struggling to pick up his axe. The knight advanced on her.

Cassandra could tell what would happen next. She would raise her sword too late. Cadash would not reach her in time. The knight’s sword would take her hands off in a stroke followed by her head.

She scrambled backwards across the floor. She could not find her feet.

"Defiled," moaned the knight. "I was meant to protect her ashes and I failed her. Andraste is forsaken. I thought I knew my enemy and I was wrong."

"It was not your fault," said Cassandra. Her vision swam.

"I should have been more careful," said the knight. "I should have named them all damned from the start. That way, my Lady would have been safe forever."

"Nothing remains safe forever." Cassandra swung weakly at the knight's feet, and he kicked her sword away contemptuously. "You can't always-"

The knight's boot flipped her over onto her back. His sword aimed at her heart. 

"Be judged," said the knight. 

The Haunter materialized behind him.

Its two hands closed gently around the knight’s head. The knight’s feet lifted off the ground, as easily as if he was a toy, and his legs kicked and swung wildly. He waved his sword about his head, and it passed through the Haunter harmlessly. The sword then fell to the ground, and the knight punched and clawed at the ghost, to no avail. 

Then, unhinging its jaw, the Haunter opened its mouth over the knight’s head and _bit_.

The kicking and swinging stopped. No crunching of bone, no tearing of flesh, just the soft, wet sounds of chewing.

Cassandra felt reality unmoor. The Haunter’s pointed tongue probed into the neck of the knight and began to suck. The knight’s arms and legs jerked widlly, and then it gauntlets fell empty to the floor. Its mailed sleeves deflated with a gentle rustle. Its boots fell. Armor rang piece by piece against the stone. The breastplate, the gorget, all fell as the dead knight’s flesh was sucked like soup down the Haunter’s gently pulsing throat.

At last, the Haunter’s hands closed together until they clasped. It licked its lips in a great circle and gave a loud belch.

Cassandra fell back against the ground. She was barely aware of an arm coming around her and propping her up. 

“Cassie?” Cadash shook her a little. His throat was bleeding and bruised purple. “Cass?”

“Cassandra,” she said. “My brother was the only one to call me….”

Blaze honked and came running to her side. Cassandra let herself be gently lifted to her feet by the Herald and her pokemon.

“You okay?” rasped Cadash. 

“I'm fine. That wound on your throat will need to be looked at.”

“Sure.” Cadash’s voice was a croak. “Can you smell it?”

It took Cassandra a moment to understand what he meant. The air was clean. The stench was gone.

“He ate it.” Cassandra gazed up at the Haunter. Revulsion roiled in her gut, warring with awe. “That was….incredible.”

Cadash craned his neck up at the ghost pokemon grinning at them.

“Looks like you got a fan,” he said.

Cassandra did not rebuke him that. It was very nearly true.

* * *

“So. What do you think that was?” Cadash offered his pipe to Cassandra, and she shook her head. 

“A lingering spirit, a memory? I cannot say. Something tormented by loss,” said Cassandra.

They followed the forest path back to Haven. Blaziken walked in front of them, melting the snow with her feet and heating the air in her wake. The Haunter floated behind them. It was easy to forget it was there until it burped.

Cassandra carried a bag filled with the shards of the shattered urn that had been arranged on the altar. They seemed little more than broken pottery, but she could not bear to leave them in that cave. If they were connected to Andraste in some way, then they were Chantry artifacts and deserved to be treated as such. Cadash had not remarked upon her gathering them, though she sensed he found it a waste of time. That he did not say as such was gracious of him. 

"How's your head?" asked Cadash. 

"Throbbing. How is your throat?" 

"Feels like a druffalo stepped on it. That was one tough revenant. We're lucky Smiler was there to pull our asses out of the fire."

"Yes. You were right about him all along,” said Cassandra. “And I was wrong. Again.”

“Yeah, well. The world’s scarier than usual.”

“That’s no excuse. I keep telling myself to dig deeper, and each time I think I have, I find out there are more layers underneath. You knew what it was right away, and I didn’t.”

Cadash shrugged. “Can’t be right all the time.”

“It was wrong of me to accuse you. I shouldn’t have assumed your pokemon's guilt.”

“Maybe skip that part next time.”

“I think I will,” said Cassandra, and meant it.

They walked in silence, each nursing their bruises. The sun was high, and the trunks of the trees were damp with melting snow. 

Cadash puffed on his pipe. “Now that the mystery's solved, are you still going to make me hand Smiler over?”

Cassandra looked back at the Haunter. Its hue had darkened almost to black, especially around its distended stomach. The revulsion and unease that sickened her heart was still there, though it was not half of what it had been that morning.

“We would never have been able to find the knight without his help,” said Cassandra. "I am willing to take a leap of faith with him." 

"Really?" 

"There is enough chaos and evil in the world. We need to work together if we're going to survive it. Besides, I doubt you would give him up without a fight." 

Cadash snorted. “And if the rest of the war council disagrees with you?" 

"Then I will defend both of you."

"What a sight that would be."

"Me, a Seeker drawing her sword on behalf of a ghost pokemon, and you, the Herald of Andraste, ready to hack Haven apart plank by plank with his axe." 

"Nah, I wouldn't use my axe." 

"No?" 

"I’d just tell Leliana and Josephine that their precious Herald was going to go up to every Orlesian noble he saw and show them his willy. That might change their minds.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“People call me 'The Spotted Dog' to my face, but they call me 'The Spotted Dick' behind my back. It ain't for nothing, friend.”

Cassandra laughed and the Haunter laughed with her. She stopped in the middle of the path. The Haunter floated past her, then began to slowly circle, its mouth working in silent laughter. She offered her hand to it. "Thank you."

Cadash lowered his pipe. Even Blaziken paused to watch.

The Haunter turned over twice in the air, then held out one of its corpse-like claws. When it touched Cassandra, her hand prickled as if it had been plunged into ice water. When she drew it back, her fingers were covered in strings of tar-like mucus.

"You," she said, wiping her hand on her pants, "are...certainly unique."

"That's one way to put it," said Cadash. 

* * *

As it turned out, Cassandra did not have to worry about convincing the rest of the advisors. Leliana, Cullen, and Josephine came out to meet them at the gates of Haven. Cullen’s head jerked at the sight of the Haunter, and Josephine regarded it with wary curiosity. Leliana’s expression was perfectly blank.

“Yeah. So.” Cadash rolled his axe off his shoulder and dropped its head to the ground with a thud. “Problem solved.”

“We figured as much,” said Leliana. “The walls stopped bleeding a few hours ago. It was like a fever broke over the entire camp. We all felt it.”

“What was it exactly?” asked Josephine.

“It is….difficult to say,” said Cassandra. “It might have ben a spirit, or a demon, or something else. Whatever it was, it no longer lingers in this world.”

“Smiler ate it,” said Cadash.

The Haunter unrolled its tongue and gave them a whiff of its graveyard breath. Cullen turned his face away, looking faintly green.

“It was a knight of some sort,” said Cassandra. “It claimed to be a guardian of the Temple of Sacred Ashes, though it seemed confused and made little sense. There was urn, we have the pieces here....The knight referred to Andraste’s ashes and the Hero of Fereldan, but….”

Cassandra watched Leliana, but the spymaster’s face revealed nothing. “Possibly it was just a demon then,” said Leliana.

“In any case,” said Cullen, “while the Haunter may not have been responsible for the Chantry, we should still discuss precautions to take with it.”

“About that.” Cadash folded his hands on top of his axe pommel.

“It is my opinion that the Haunter is well-trained,” said Cassandra. “It proved itself to be a valuable asset to the Inquisition and a brave combatant.”

“You have got to be kidding,” said Cullen.

“Careful, Cull,” said Cadash. “Your face might stick like that.”

The former Templar sent him a look so venomous that Cassandra had to smirk. Josephine clasped her slate to herself and sighed.

“This is certainly going to be….interesting to explain. Can I at least suggest that we keep the Haunter out of sight of visiting nobles and the faithful?”

“We’re in a camp full of mages and refugees,” said Cadash. “You're really worried about appearances when we’re already starting off on a bad foot?”

“Absolutely. Having a Haunter in broad daylight just proves our critics' worst assumptions—”

“It is well behaved,” said Cassandra. “I do not believe it will cause problems.”

“That is not the point!” said Josephine.

“That’s why we hired you, Josie,” said Cadash. “You’re the best at smoothing feathers.”

It was Josephine’s turn to send him a venomous look.

“Yeah, I know. I'm a peach,” said Cadash. 

Behind them, the Haunter began to laugh. Not the deep, dark laughter that seemed to come from behind the wall of death, but a building, spiraling cackle that raised every hair on Cassandra’s body.

“Um,” said Cullen.

The Haunter laughed, and laughed, and its laughter carried it into the air. All at once, it shot off like a rogue balloon across the sky. Josephine shrieked. A blacksmith cried, "Maker have mercy!" People everywhere fell down and screamed out prayers. 

The Haunter flew up and up until it became a tiny purple speck, and then it popped! out of existence.

“Eh.” Cadash lowered his hand from where he had shielded his eyes against the sun. “He’ll be back.”

“Until then,” said Cassandra. “They’ll get used to it.”

Marlowe Cadash gave her a smile. It the first one Cassandra could ever remember receiving. 


End file.
